Me, at night , crouching in the dark, clutching my silly stories like a priest clutches his bible: I am a genius I am a god of words I am Shakespeare come again I am Edgar Allan Poe’s son and I am Emily Dickinson’s daughter I come from the stars with my bright and glorious wisdom, my humor has been sharpened like a blade, and the pen becomes my heart let the ink be my blood and I shall cut myself open to stain these pages with that which comes from within
Me, in the morning: why did I spell chess as cheese












